“Looks like someone drew the Olympic symbol when they were drunk.”
“That may be related to Morgan’s hidden treasure, missing since his death in 1688.”
“What are these, crop circles? Did aliens hide Morgan’s treasure?” Ray was studying the drawings.
“Maroons were aliens back in those days. They certainly didn’t want to be here. But that petroglyph was probably carved by Taino Indians long before, so I’m not sure of the connection or significance. That’s why this is just an aerial research trip.”
We closed the distance in forty minutes. I alerted Air Traffic Control that we’d be flying low altitude over Isla Vaca and held my breath.
Permission was granted. I exhaled and mentally thanked the airport manager back at Ian Fleming.
We flew low with the banana-shaped island on our port side. As I studied the landscape I explained that this was where Henry Morgan used to have all his privateers gather before they commenced one of his strategically planned invasions. I’d slowed the plane to 125 knots, but on my first pass only saw a high peak, a large pond, some nice beaches, resorts, and a lot of flat area covered with mangroves.
When I flew back around and Ray studied the island from the starboard side, he noted some large boulders and cliffs above a beach.
“Those big rocks could sort of replicate these circles,” he said. “But I don’t know.”
Good point. But if Morgan had buried his booty under large rocks, he’d had a lot of help. I flew back around so I could see what Ray had described. There was a beautiful deserted beach that led straight to a massive rock cliff with five large boulders at its base, right on the water’s edge. From the aerial perspective, it was the only thing we’d seen with any resemblance to the petroglyph.
“How’s the water look?”
“Shallow—look how light blue it is,” Ray said.
“And consistent, so it must be sandy.”
He sighed. “You’re landing, aren’t you.”
I vectored directly south a few miles, then banked back around. Ray went through the water-landing checklist as I reduced power, and about a half mile out I settled the Beast into the light chop. Water splashed in all directions as we continued toward the white beach ahead, and within minutes we felt the sensation of the plane’s bow settling onto the sand. I added thrust to get us up a little further, then cut the engines. Ray hopped out the front hatch and started setting anchors.
I climbed through the back hatch and jumped into the water, which soaked my shorts and orange fishing shirt. The short slog through the warm water led me to the beach, where Ray stood with his hands on his hips.
“Let’s make this quick,” he said.
“Unless we find something.”
We walked to the end of the beach and searched for signs of—well, anything.
A distant rumble sounded overhead. Ray heard it the same time I did.
“Police?” he said. “Already? There an airport on this island?”
“No, that sounds like …”
My stomach sank. “Ray, hide in those bushes—quick!”
He scurried into some scrubby brush and I walked down to where the beach and rock wall met the water.
A plane flew low, just over the waterline—the roar of the twin engines made me cover my ears. The plane banked hard to the south, and all I could see was the dove-gray of her belly and the floats that hung from under each wing.
“Hi, Betty,” I said.
She circled back around, even lower this time, and I caught a flash of Gunner giving me the finger from the starboard window. Jack must be at the helm.
Was Heather on board? I didn’t see any other faces as they blew by.
“Breaks my heart to see you with those assholes, girl.” I sighed. “I meant that for you, Betty, not Heather.”
They continued east and I heard her change course and turn back around to the west. They didn’t buzz me again, no doubt satisfied they knew where I was. They were clearly focused on my efforts at this point, having dug up nothing of value at Port Royal.
But how did they know we were here?
Had they seen my boats yet?
Would that blow their minds?
Hopefully.
Ray rejoined me and we silently resumed our search—he knew better than to mention Betty’s name.
When we reached the colossal boulders, I used my mask, snorkel and fins to check the waterline along them but found nothing—no underwater caves or anything that appeared to be man-made. I’d need a magnetometer to detect whether or not there was any gold or silver here, but my gut said there wasn’t. Given that this was the only thing we’d spotted on the tiny island that resembled the petroglyph drawing, and since Morgan’s diary hinted at treasure off-loaded near the Rio Grande, I concluded there was nothing of value here. But the process of elimination in itself was valuable.
We met back at the plane.
“Find anything?” I said.
“Sure, vast piles of flotsam, plastic bottles, trap floats, and junk in the bushes. On top of the hill was a road and wood stakes set by engineers for some big tourist development.”
“Figures.”
Nothing pristine lasts for long, even in Haiti.
There was no conversation on the flight back to Jamaica, but my mind was noisy with frustration, and not just because Isla Vaca had turned out to be a dud. The sight of Betty in the hands of Jack and Gunner was a fresh kick in the balls. No matter how many times I glimpsed my old plane—my sole possession after filing bankruptcy—it still hurt. How she’d been rebuilt I still didn’t know, but she was as beautiful now as she’d ever been.
Even though she was no longer mine.
Upon reaching Jamaica we banked down over the central highway that led from Ocho Rios to Kingston. My promise that we’d approach Port Royal from the opposite direction of Jack’s dive site was as much for my peace of mind as Ray’s. Gunner and his mercenaries had already fired on me once, and that was before they knew why I was here. After seeing him in the mountains yesterday, and with our boats parked on their perimeter today, I wouldn’t be surprised if he fired a heat-seeking missile at us.
With both his hands on top of the instrument panel, Ray searched ahead of us for boats and debris.
“There are three, four, five boats anchored in a group ahead, one of them a barge.”
“Sounds like Johnny. Can you see a larger group of boats a quarter mile or so further east?”
“Yeah, looks like—yeah, there’s Betty anchored inside of them.”
He glanced at me and I bit my lip. He didn’t know Heather was over there too, or at least she had been. That could fray his nerves a bit more than this escapade already had. It certainly frayed mine.
The Beast set down in the two-foot seas, still a quarter mile out from our boats, and while we skipped and bounced, water blasting off the props, we quickly settled into a good pace on the step, aimed toward the Viking that Johnny had rented.
“Okay, let’s switch positions,” I said.
“What, while we’re moving?”
“Part of the plan, Ray. I want them to think you’re me—that’s why I had you hide back at Isla Vaca, so they wouldn’t see you.”
“I thought you were just protecting me.”
“And take your shirt off.”
“Excuse me?”
I held the wheel with my knee and pulled my orange fishing shirt over my head. “They’ve seen me in this—”
“That’s gonna be a little tight, Buck.”
“It’s an XL, you’ll be fine.”
He unbuttoned his red floral Hawaiian shirt and took it off, one arm after the other.
“Okay, let’s switch.”
I got up, leaning over—the Beast veered and dove awkwardly in the trough of a wave—
“Hang on!”
To his credit, Ray dove under my arm into the left seat and quickly got the plane back on course. I fell into the right seat, sat back up, and pushed the orange sh
irt over his head. He struggled to get each arm through the long sleeves while still guiding the plane. I dug in the storage panel under the starboard window and pulled out the sun mask and gloves I’d worn the day I confronted Jack.
“These too.”
“Is that blood—”
“They’re fishing gloves, Ray. You just had skin cancer, so you’re trying to avoid the sun—”
“No I didn’t—”
“Ray! Just play along.”
He slowed the plane. Our boats were dead ahead, maybe a hundred yards off the bow. All our men, none of whom I’d met aside from Johnny, were standing on the deck of the Viking, staring and pointing at us. Good news—there was a small police boat out there too.
Well done, Johnny.
I took my binoculars from the storage bin, crouched low, and focused them past our boats and onto Jack’s. His crew were also all facing toward us, no doubt curious about the new boats—and now another antique flying boat. Jack and Gunner wouldn’t have told them anything, yet. The big difference between our two groups, aside from the number of people and craft, was that several of Jack’s people held rifles and shotguns. I scanned from man to man—there!
Jack and Gunner stood in the middle of their men—Jack was waving his arm and pointing toward Gunner, whose mouth looked thin as a razor.
“Do they see us?” Ray said.
“They see us.”
“Are they pissed?”
“They’re pissed. Oh, yeah, they’re pissed.”
He let out a long sigh.
“Remember, Ray, both groups have representatives from the Jamaican National Heritage Trust on board. They’ll force everybody to play by the rules—”
“If they haven’t been tied up and gagged, you mean.”
We taxied to the north of our boats to be in the wind’s lee, and on the inside edge facing the harbor at Kingston. The Coast Guard base at the end of Port Royal was weather-beaten and dominated the waterfront there, but it also provided some sense of comfort—flimsy as it might be.
“Can you get the anchors ready?” he said.
“I’ll get them ready, but you need to go through the bow and open the port side hatch to set them yourself. They need to think you’re alone here.”
“Seriously? That’s a pain in the—”
“They have binoculars too, Ray. They see me and we’re pissing in the wind.”
I scrambled back into the cabin, popped open the rear storage door, and readied the stern anchor for him—all from my knees. Next I crawled back and up into the nose, then cleared the bow anchor too. The pitch of the engines made it clear Ray was in position.
“You all set?” I said.
“Yeah, sure, I’m set.”
“Okay.” I paused for two seconds. “Ready, go!”
Ray jumped up, scrambled under the instrument—
“Oww, crap!”
Everyone hits their head on that panel.
Cussing ensued, then I heard the bow hatch swing open. Ray grunted, I heard some shuffling, and he came crawling like a demon back through the hatch—I couldn’t see his face because of the sun mask.
“You’re doing great, Ray.”
“Shut up!”
He climbed into the left seat, added reverse thrust and backed away from the anchor.
“Taut!” He jumped up again, climbed over me, and popped open the port hatch—nearly fell in the water, grumbling and talking to himself as he grabbed the Danforth anchor and tossed it out with a grunt. Once the rope went slack he started retrieving it, yanking every few feet until it went taut. He took in a deep breath—I could see the fabric on the sun mask suck inside his mouth.
“Better check the front anchor,” I said.
“Shut up, Buck! God … darn it, how … do I … let you—”
“Save your breath, too.”
As Ray passed me, the toe of his right foot kicked me in the shoulder.
“Did you do that on purpose?”
“I was aiming for your head!”
The sound of a motorboat approaching caught my attention. Could one of Jack’s people be here this fast? He did have a couple of speedboats.
I scurried up into the flight deck and tried to hide, which wasn’t easy. Ray backed out of the forward hatch.
“Hey! Can you let me by, please?”
“There’s a boat coming,” I said. “Fix your mask!”
He pulled the mask back down over his face and peered out the window.
“It’s your guy Johnny.”
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.”
“About time,” Ray said.
“An old-fashioned switcheroo. They’ll think you’re me out here on my new dive site, so they won’t try and follow me around Jamaica anymore.”
“That’s it? How will you get out of here, then?”
“Once you’ve settled in on the boat and their attention wanes, I’ll swim over and sneak onto one of the other boats. Johnny will drive it to shore.”
“Better you than me,” he said.
The motorboat idled up to the open hatch on the port side of the Beast.
“Yoo-hoo, anybody home?” Johnny said.
“Yeah, hang on, Johnny. Ray’s going with you and I’m staying here. He’ll explain it to you. But act like you never saw me.”
He puckered his lips and scratched his head, all while keeping the boat straight in the press of the current.
“Okay,” Ray said, “See you later—”
“One other thing, Ray.” I paused. “Jack, Gunner, and those guys all have guns.”
Ray froze.
“They’ll be pissed and probably come over to see what the hell’s going on. You just keep that mask on and let Johnny do the talking. You refuse to speak with them, because Dodson and my/your ex-wife are having an affair—”
“What?”
“She was on his boat the day I got here.” I tried to keep my expression neutral. “Seems they’d been seeing each other since I was still married to her.”
“Damn, Buck. Sorry, man.”
“Plenty reason for you to give them the bird and stay inside that big cabin cruiser. Johnny will play the heavy—”
“Let’s go,” Johnny said. “I’m gonna smash this boat into the side of your plane in a minute, mon.”
Ray hesitated, looking like a mummified fishing guide in the sun mask and gloves, then he nodded once, stepped outside, and slammed the hatch shut. A moment later the motorboat’s engine revved and then faded into the distance, leaving only the sound of waves slapping against the hull of my ancient flying boat.
I watched through the binoculars as Jack and Gunner stomped around the deck of their fancy Merritt yacht and yelled at some of their crewmen. As much money as he’d spent by now, with me here setting up another dive site, examining petroglyphs in the mountains, and flying to distant islands connected to Henry Morgan, Jack would be shitting glass by now.
Ray and Johnny arrived back at the Viking, tied off, and climbed aboard. Didn’t help that Ray was four inches shorter than me and closer to twenty pounds heavier.
“Get below deck, Ray.” I held my breath as he stopped to speak with some of the people on deck. He reached behind and scratched his ass.
“Don’t ham it up trying to pretend you’re me—stick to the plan!”
He finally waved to one of the other men on a boat and stepped down into the salon. Crap. Would Jack realize that wasn’t me? I hoped their seeing me just an hour ago at Isla Vaca, in the same orange shirt, would be convincing enough.
Once an hour had passed and the afternoon sun had flattened, I cracked the port hatch open. The pull of the current had us facing away from both flotillas. Stripped down to my underwear, I edged outside and managed to hang on to the exterior handle. The fresh air and breeze were a relief to my stomach, a bit queasy after the constant rocking in the steady chop.
I pulled the hatch down, pushed it until it snapped, locked it, then hung the key on the chain around my neck a
nd knifed into the cool water.
I did my best to keep most of my body submerged as I swam, trying to position myself so Jack’s group couldn’t see me as I approached my boats. My heart raced—if one of my own men or someone on the police boat saw me, they might sound an alarm. I had to trust that Johnny had told our people to keep their mouths shut.
Nobody even glanced my way as I did a very slow stroke right up to the speedboat, now tied up next to the big cabin cruiser. I swam to its stern and peeked around the corner toward Jack’s boats. It was too far to be sure whether anyone was watching or not, so I swam to the middle of the boat, reached up to the dock bumper, then the side of the boat and pulled myself up and in, hoping the center console would block their view if they were watching. I lay flat, shivering in the shade, the sound of my heart throbbing in my ears.
An engine revved in the distance, and within moments it sounded as if somebody had shoved a boat’s throttle, or throttles, into full speed and was coming this way.
Fast.
I scurried to the opposite side of the boat and lay flat against the gunwale closest to the direction of the approaching boat.
“The hell’s going on?” I heard Johnny Blake on the deck of the cabin cruiser “You stay down there!”
I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or Ray, but hopefully both.
“Yo, mister Constable? Hello? Yeah, you! That boat is not welcome over here—they’ll be trespassing, could be armed and dangerous!”
Good, Johnny, good.
I heard someone reply from the police boat, then it started up too. It sounded as if it pulled up to our cabin cruiser and was idling as the other boat got louder, closing the distance. Then the pitch of its engine changed as it slowed down—if not inside our survey area, damn close.
“Buck Reilly!”
Jack Dodson’s voice.
“The hell you want, mon?” Johnny said.
“Tell Buck to get topside, I want to have a word with him.”
“I don’t think so, brother. He don’t want to talk to none of you.”
A megaphone crackled. “Stay on the other side of those buoys, or you will be trespassing!” Must be the constable.
Maroon Rising Page 11
